


Comfort & Monsters

by Kallanda_Lee



Category: Snow Falling on Cedars, Torchwood
Genre: Action/Adventure, Amputee, Canon Bisexual Character, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Disabled Character, Historical, M/M, Physical Disability, Plotty, Science Fiction, Slash, Veterans, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-09 14:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kallanda_Lee/pseuds/Kallanda_Lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Harkness finds himself chasing aliens in post World War II America. Soon, he's not only captivated by the monsters, but also by a man. Crossover with Snow Falling on Cedars. Slash with a plot.</p>
<p>I'm not even going to start thinking about which timeline it is in exactly, that would just hurt everyone's brain. The story is written in such a way that you do not need to know the events of Snow Falling on Cedars, however the story contains spoilers for all fandoms. If it helps for the metal image : Ishmael was played by Ethan Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This is one of my rather weird crossovers, namely Doctor Who/Torchwood/Snow Falling on Cedars. I first got the idea when I saw a "Captain Jack does everyone in every universe challenge" somewhere, but every time I try to write smut I end up with a plot.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Jack Harkness and Ishmael Chambers, I merely drool over them. Any other characters you recognize – nope, not mine either

**Comfort & Monsters**

Chapter 1

San Piedro Island, USA, January 1956

Jack Harkness looked out over the surface of the mist-clad water. All seemed calm and peaceful. Over the years one learns not to trust appearances, though. Something was lurking beneath. Something not from this Earth – and it had brought Jack to this place. He had not come by spacecraft or timeship. His journey was made on a good old-fashioned aero plane. He was still jetlagged from his trip from the UK, but resting was a luxury he could not afford right now – not before he had assessed the threat this creature posed.

He knelt down and dipped the small test tube into the dark water. Jack breathed in, the cold night air filling his lungs. Even the air bore something it should not. Jack picked up on a faint scent that drew his attention. It was a bit like sulfur, but not quite.

It was then that the water lit up. A fluorescent glow made its way up from the depths below, giving the water a yellow-green shine. The spectacle itself was quite beautiful and Jack could not help but admire it. Seconds later the light was gone – but something else had already started to float to the surface. Dozens – no hundreds of dead fish broke through the water, their lifeless bodies floating motionlessly on their sides, decorating the empty spaces between fishing boats.

Behind Jack something moved. He flung around with almost superhuman speed, hiding behind one of the barrels on the shore. Quiet footsteps made their way to the waterfront. A figure came to a standstill only a few feet away from him. The stranger wore a hat and a long coat. His breath made little puffy clouds every time it touched the air. More footsteps followed. The second figure was older and more heavy-set and was wearing some sort of uniform. He came to a stand next to the younger man.

"I swear, Ishmael, there were lights here before. I'm not going mad. It's not the first time I've seen them, either."

"I believe you."

"Look, I don't know how to tell this to people. I mean, lights and dead fish? I don't know what they'd think…" the uniformed man said. "Maybe your paper could run a story…"

"So they think the journalist is mad, not the sheriff?" "Ishmael asked, some bitterness resounding in his voice.

The sheriff was already starting to apologise, but Ishmael cut him off.

"It's all right, Art, I know you didn't mean anything bad. Sure is strange, though. I'll see what I can make of it."

Ishmael pulled something out of his pocket. Jack could make out it was a notebook. There was something awkward about his movements though. He used the same hand to take out a pencil, and put the notebook on a barrel to write. Jack observed this strange ritual with interest.

"Got a flashlight?" Ishmael asked to Art.

The sheriff nodded and soon a light illuminated the shore, allowing Ishmael to see what he was writing. It also allowed Jack to see the reason for Ishmael's strange behaviour. The journalist was missing his left arm.

Probably a veteran, Jack thought. The time was certainly right for it. And it was not just that either – Jack could make out weariness in the man; along with an unspoken deep-seeded hurt. Something had broken Ishmael and he was trying to pick up the pieces.

A journalist could be an ally or an enemy. Jack was rather hoping it would be the former, though. Not only could he use a man in search of the truth, but Jack had to admit he found Ishmael to be quite attractive. And they might have a thing or two in common.

Art turned the flashlight off again and Ishmael returned the little notebook to his pocket. The two figures disappeared into the night.

Jack waited until the footsteps died out completely. He still had some things to do. All seemed quiet again now, but Jack didn't trust it for one single bit. He immersed a little vial into the water, filling it. Hopefully an analysis would give him more answers.

In the distance, a splash could be heard. Jack looked up in time to see the ripples, but whatever caused them had disappeared again.

Then another splash, on the right, but again the perpetrator was gone before Jack's eyes turned to look at the spot.

Silence again.

Then something broke through the surface right in front of him. It was nothing more than black shadow, a small part of what must have been a larger creature. It was gone in less than two seconds, coming up only to grab one of the dead fish, dragging it back to the depths.

Part of Jack wanted to jump right in. He wanted to feel the adrenalin again. Instead, he controlled his urges. After all, he couldn't do much good if he got eaten before he even started.

This time he'd be reasonable. He closed the vial, tucking it safely into his coat. He'd just have to hope he could do the best possible with primitive technology. And possibly do a background check on some of the islanders. Yes, he might just do that. Starting with a certain journalist called Ishmael.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The one-armed man was sitting at the bar of the Amity Harbor Restaurant almost motionlessly, moving only when he brought his glass of whiskey to his lips. The place was nearly empty and he was the only one at the bar. His hat was still on and the collar of his coat was pulled up as if to protect him from the harsh weather, even though the restaurant's interior left the winter cold safely outside.

Captain Jack Harkness was sitting at a nearby table, enjoying the island's specialty food – fish. Unsurprising, as a considerable portion of the population were actually fishermen.

Jack had read up on Ishmael Chambers – for that was the other man's full name. He had spent the better half of the day in the library, going through old records. Chambers was indeed a war veteran, and now a newspaper man, as his father was before him. Less than 2 years ago, Ishmael had found important information in a murder case. The info had proven to be invaluable and had resulted in the release of the accused, a Japanese man. Jack found that quite admirable, in a time where racial tensions were still bound to be…well, tense.

The other man he had seen last night was Art Moran, the local sheriff. San Piedro Island was not exactly populated by law enforcement; Jack should expect no trouble from that side. The place only had a population of about five thousand. It was a quiet community, with low crime figures. In general, life must have been uneventful here, although Jack feared that might change now they had unwanted visitors.

Jack still hadn't pinpointed who or what exactly they were. He was unfamiliar with the creatures he had seen last night. They were most likely from some aquatic planet, but that still left him with hundreds of worlds to choose from. The sample he had taken was sulfuric, but it did not really help him in his search either. Considering the time period he was in, he was probably going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. And that probably meant getting his hands dirty. Maybe he could try reasoning with them. He smirked. That's how the Doctor would do it.

Taking his mind off the creatures and his favourite Doctor, Jack's attention drifted back to Ishmael Chambers. He found the man quite fascinating. Growing up many centuries from now, the Great Wars of old were nothing but stories he read in history books. The veterans were strangers appearing on badly preserved black-and-white pictures. He did not really think of them as being flesh and blood until he first ended up in this time, when he first adopted the name of Jack Harkness. Suddenly World War II had become personal.

Some things never change, he thought, it's always the young men who are cannon fodder. The men who actually declare wars remain safe, while boys barely out of their teens risk life and limb for a cause that's not even theirs.

Long ago – or a long time from now, depending on perspective - he had been a soldier too. Not because of ideology, but because the enemy had been so terrible there would have been nothing left if no one was willing to risk fighting them. He had seen things – horrible thing – things no-one should ever see. While medicine in his time was more advanced, no one really found a cure for the psychological trauma of it all. With time, weapons too grew more deadly and destructive. There were monstrous ways to torture. Man created weapons that mutilated in ways that would make even a seasoned soldier cringe. He'd seen a boy once who had such large holes in his body; you could actually see the bed under him _through_ the wounds. Worst part of it, the boy actually _lived._

Jack Harkness pondered on the fate of Ishmael Chambers. He thought of the fates of so many men in this century, which had gone to war and returned with their bodies and minds broken. They were pictures in a book no more. They were real, beautiful men – like the one who was sitting at the bar.

In his time, Jack would simply walk up to him and invite him to his bedroom. Worst case scenario, he'd get a "no". In this time, more caution was advised. Jack wouldn't give up without a fight though.

After finishing his dinner, Jack sat down next to Ishmael. He ordered a drink for himself. Alcohol had already taken its toll on Ishmael, and it didn't look like he'd be a pleasant drunk.

The journalist gave him a nod out of mandatory politeness.

Jack signaled the bartender and ordered a beer. Not that beer was his favourite poison, but his drink of choice simply wasn't served in this century.

Ishmael was quietly eying him with the inquisitive look of a news reporter, despite the considerable volume of alcohol that was now mixed in with his blood.

"You a soldier?" Ishmael finally asked.

"Used to be," Jack replied. "Captain Jack Harkness", he introduced himself, while extending his hand

Ishmael's fingers unwrapped from around the glass before him and firmly shook his hand. "Ishmael Chambers", he said, oblivious to the fact that Jack already knew who he was. "Captain, eh? Lucky bastard. I was just a foot soldier."

"That how you lost your arm?" Jack asked, before he could consider the tactlessness of his question.

Ishmael smirked and took another sip of his poison. "You know what? I think I like you, Jack Harkness. You're a no-bullshit type of guy. Most folk here are scared shitless to ask about it. Even after all these years. Figure they're scared I'd bore 'em with the sad story of my life." He smirked again. "I lost it at Tarawa. Considering how many men died there, I got off lucky."

Ishmael downed his drink with such speed, that Jack noted that _lucky_ was not the adjective he'd use to describe him.

For a moment Jack thought he'd order another glass of whiskey. For a moment, Ishmael actually considered it. Instead the journalist turned his attention to Jack.

"So tell me Captain Harkness, what brings a man like you to a place like this?"

"Research", Jack replied.

"Scientist?"

"Not quite."

Ishmael looked at Jack for few more seconds before he realised that was all the answer he'd get.

"Quiet type, huh?"

"It's about the fish," Jack finally said.

A sound escaped Ishmael Chambers lips and it took Jack a second to recognize it was laughter. It was so unexpected from this man, who carried his sadness with dignified silence. It was beautiful though, and more beautiful so because it was genuine.

"Wait, wait, you're saying you came up to San Piedro from lord-knows-where to do research on _dead fish_?" He was trying to suppress more laughter. "Whatever you do, it must be one hell of a job."

Jack flashed him a smile. He was glad the conversation had lightened up a bit at least.

"You have no idea.", Jack said grinningly.

The smile still lingered around Ishmael Chambers' lips and it was a joy to see.

"How did you even know about that? I haven't even decided if I'll put it in my paper."

"I work for a secret organization that's very interested in dead fish," Jack semi-joked.

Ishmael jumped to his feet faster than Jack would expect from an inebriated man.

"Let's go see fish then."

A few minutes later, the two men were standing outside in the Marina. This day was even colder than the day before. It was snowing mildly. The little flakes melted on impact with anything in their way. This resulted in a certain cold dampness that got everywhere and made both of them been chilled to the bone. As if nature wasn't tormenting them enough already, there was a sideways wind that made the snowflakes smash against their faces, eventually giving them a feeling of pins-and-needles.

Jack crouched down near the water, observing the quiet waters in daylight. The view in front of his eyes radiated a desolate beauty. The masts of the moored fishing boats protruded from the mist, waiting diligently until their owners would come for them. The mist itself was uneven, hanging over the water gracefully. Patches of deep green seawater could be seen now and then, and looked as if they had been colour-coordinated with the landscape on the other side of the bay.

What seemed to be lacking though, were dead fish. There were a few still left, yes. But only a fraction of what Jack had witnessed.

"There were more of them yesterday," Ishmael said

Jack nodded. His hypothesis was that they ended up as dinner.

"Fishermen had a poor catch too, Jack, not just today but for three days consecutively."

"And before that?" Jack asked. "Notice anything odd?"

"Not me. But some people saw lights. Have been seeing them even since. It's making the islanders nervous. Suppose they're prone to ghost stories."

"Sounds like you don't like 'em."

"Nah, they're good folk. Life's just different here, that's all. Used to live in Seattle. Mentality's, well…here it's like if time stands still. Part of the charm, I guess.

Jack dipped his fingers into the green water. He paused. This wasn't right.

"What's wrong?" Ishmael asked behind him.

"It's January," Jack said. "The water should be colder."

Ishmael kneeled down next to Jack. He too dipped his hand in the water.

"You're right," he said. "You could _swim_ in this."

In the distance a cluster of bubbles reached the surface. A light glow once again emanated from the depths.

"Christ. I guess they weren't kidding." Ishmael said.

Jack's attention was drawn elsewhere though. There was a mild hum. It wasn't coming from the water; the sound was located above their heads. A line formed on the sky, much like the trail of a jet plane, only the trail seemed on fire. Whatever it was, it was going at a much greater speed still. Its trajectory changed and the object deviated to the right. It got closer and now looked like a silver comet with a fiery tail.

The hum got louder and the sound soon resembled that of a landing plane. Only it was going too fast to land. It crashed a few miles further, tearing down a few cedar trees on impact. Black smoke rose up from behind the green curtain, only to spontaneously stop a few seconds later. The whole event was over as suddenly as it had started and anyone arriving to look just now would never believe what had just come to pass.

Behind Jack, Ishmael could barely believe his eyes. Jack jumped up, turning to face Ishmael.

I'm sorry, I must go." He said apologetically.

When Jack started running towards the crash site, he honestly regretted having to leave Ishmael. Pleasantries would have to wait, though. Right now, he had an alien to catch.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It took Jack over an hour to get to the crash site.  He was out of breath and cursed whatever it was that made him immortal but didn’t give him superhuman stamina. He looked up to where the cedars had been damaged by the incoming object. The sun was starting to set and its golden rays came falling from the sky, flooding the area with light. Had Jack been a religious man, he might have felt the presence of a Deity upon seeing this spectacle. But his mind was set on more pragmatic matters. Up ahead, not only the tips of the trees were damaged. They were broken in two as if they had been matchsticks. Jack followed the path of destruction until he reached the impact crater. Again the site was flooded by sunrays and the hole in the ground looked like a basin for a lake of liquid gold.

The craft – if that was indeed what it was - couldn’t have been very large. The size of six cars, maybe. Thing was, the crater was entirely empty. Jack walked from one end to the other, finding nothing there. But Jack Harkness wasn’t born yesterday. He grinned at the expression. No, he wasn’t born yesterday – he had knowledge that those born in this century had not. He knew that you don’t just move a spaceship. You try to hide it. But where does one hide something so large? No more trees appeared to be broken beyond the crater.

Then, it dawned on him. He picked up a handful of pebbles and began to throw them, one by one, above his head and all around him, between tree trunks and thick foliage. To a bystander he would most likely have looked like a madman. He didn’t find what he was after right away and many more pebbles followed. He once more covered the site of the crater with no result. Jack trailed back, still throwing pebbles, until he finally reached the spot where the object had originally damaged the trees. There, one of the little stones met resistance in the air. It resonated as it touched metal and bounced off in a different angle than if it would have if it had just been grabbed by gravity.

Jack laughed victoriously. He threw a few larger stones at the same spot. They all reacted in a similar fashion. 

Someone had parked their ship a few feet above ground. A ship with cloaking technology, no less.

Definitely not from around here.

“Clever,” he mumbled to himself. “Very clever.”

Behind him, someone scraped his throat.

Ishmael Chambers was leaning against a cedar tree, looking directly at Jack.

“Talking to yourself now, Jack? Most psychiatrists would think that war had gotten to your mind. And that’s without mentioning you throw rocks at nothing in particular.”

“Well I was never one for therapy. How did you get here so fast?” Jack asked.

“I took the car. You should try it sometimes. It’s usually faster than running.”

Ishmael forced a smile. Jack could see the man was a least trying to be pleasant, a courtesy he did not give to all men. It was not every day that he made an attempt at a sense of humour, albeit a cynical one, and Jack appreciated it.

“About that car, “Jack asked, “think you could give me a ride?”

Ten minutes later, Jack was sitting in the passenger’s seat of Ishmael Chambers’ DeSoto. Jack had forgotten how much he liked old cars. They were so lovely really, in the days before they started to make them more streamlined for speed, or equipped for flight.

There wasn’t even any technology to make it easier for Ishmael to drive. All there was to accommodate the fact that he was missing an arm, was a wooden knob on the steering wheel. Jack watched the man with great interest. Ishmael must have seen him looking, because he glanced sideways – seeking eye contact while trying not to crash.

“So you want to tell me what happened back there?”, Ishmael finally asked.

“Meteor,” Jack lied.

“A meteor,” Ishmael repeated, “So, a meteor made you run for over 5 miles straight, a meteor is somehow responsible for those dead fish, and a meteor managed to make a giant crater and then disappeared into thin air?”

He was a smart one, that Chambers, and Jack regretted not telling him a more convincing lie.

“Well it does sound implausible when you put it that way.” Jack agreed.

“Uh-huh. Now from the way it was flying I’d guess it was a fighter plane, but it was too big and it wouldn’t leave such a big crater. Not to mention it would leave debris. So it looks like we’ve got ourselves a little mystery on San Piedro.”

Jack took a deep breath. Might as well tell him – it’s not like anyone would believe him if he said anything. “As far as I can tell it’s a spacecraft.”

Jack expected laughter, but all he got was a smirk.

“What, like they did in Roswell a couple of years back? Shouldn’t you be covering it up then, say it was a weather balloon?”

“I don’t work for the same people,” Jack said truthfully.

“You realise I have to write about this?”

“You realise they’ll think you’re crazy?”

“Hell, maybe I am. I’m not even sure I believe you yet. But being a vet buys you the right to be a little crazy. I have a reputation already. Don’t really care if it gets worse.” 

They continued the rest of the journey in silence and it wasn’t long before the Marina came into sight. Mist stretched out over the water and although it was hours until nightfall, it looked like dusk was already setting in. Was it not for the hustle and bustle of the townsfolk, San Piedro could easily have been mistaken for a ghost town. Even now, it seemed as if time had stood still here and the houses were timeless and unchanging, as they were a hundred years ago and would be for a hundred more. 

As Ishmael pulled over, Jack found himself reluctant to get out of the car. He hesitated slightly before opening the door. Yet, it was Ishmael who spoke.

“You tried to get me away from that crash site, didn’t you?”

Jack did not reply, but his silence spoke louder than words.

“If I were to go back, I’d find something, wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t go back there,” Jack sighed. “It’s…not safe. I have the unpleasant habit of people dying around me”.

Ishmael took a deep breath, and Jack wondered if that meant he was refusing to listen, or that he was actually heeding the warning.

“You have a place to stay for the night?” Ishmael finally asked.

Jack nodded. “I’ll be staying at the Inn.”

“Perhaps I should come and interview you.”

“Perhaps you should,’ Jack replied. “Off the record, that is.”

He got out of the car, thinking that what he just said _made no sense at all._ Not even to himself.

 


End file.
